


Share each other like an island

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Pegging, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Ron and Hermione have started shagging like weasels, there's no room for him anymore, no space between them marked "Harry," the way there used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Share each other like an island

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady Sarai (lady_sarai)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_sarai/gifts).



> Thanks to Mousapelli for looking it over.

Harry doesn't sleep much, hasn't since fifth year and the endless loop of Sirius's fall replaying in his mind like the way Dudley used to replay the come shots of the porn movies he wasn't supposed to be watching, but that Aunt Petunia pretended didn't exist.

Not sleeping actually worked to his advantage when he lived with the Dursleys, and it came in pretty handy when they were on the horcrux hunt and being awake when meant being alert enough to run when there was trouble.

Now, though, the war is over, and if all's not right with the world, it's not all on Harry's shoulders anymore. He should be able to sleep, but somewhere along the line he lost the knack. Now, he listens.

He knows it's wrong, but the walls in the flat are thin and they don't use a silencing charm, so he figures they want him to hear every creak of the bedsprings, every one of Hermione's ragged sighs and Ron's desperate moans.

If he had his druthers, he'd be in there with them, but since they've started shagging like weasels, there's no room for him anymore, no space between them marked "Harry," the way there used to be.

He caught them on the sofa once, came home early from seeing the Cannons lose to the Falcons yet again to see Hermione straddling Ron's lap, hips moving in a rhythm Harry hasn't seen often enough in person, but which was all too familiar from Dudley's films. He'd slipped into his room silently, trying to exorcise thoughts of Hermione's legs and Ron's hands, the soft growls Ron made as she sucked kisses onto his jaw, the wet sounds of his cock in her cunt and the rising oh oh oh of Hermione's orgasm.

Harry didn't sleep much that night, spent most of it with his hand on his prick, having it off until he was spent and sore.

That's still his favorite wank material, though some of the sounds they're making tonight come close. He closes his eyes and strokes in time with the headboard banging into the wall. He imagines Hermione on her knees, hands wrapped tight around the headboard and back arching and bowing as Ron fucks into her from behind. He pretends his lotion-slick hand is her mouth or her cunt or Ron's arse, slippery tight heat that gives him just the right amount of friction. With his other hand, he plays with his balls, slips a finger back to circle his hole, imagining the head of Ron's cock, or the big silicon dildo Hermione doesn't know he knows about.

God, maybe he's got it wrong and it's Ron on his hands and knees and Hermione fucking him, leather straps dark against the pale smooth skin of her thighs, her tits bouncing with the motion while one of her hands slips over his hip to jerk his cock.

"Fuck yeah, Hermione."

That's enough to make Harry lose it; his vision goes black for a second while he shoots thick strands of jizz over his fist and belly.

A loud thump from the next door startles him out of his hazy state, and he realizes it wasn't Ron's voice crying out as he came.

The door to his bedroom swings open and Harry sits up, covers pulled to his chin like he can hide what he's been doing.

Ron is naked and flushed pink, his cock still hard and bobbing against his belly, and his mouth hanging open in shock. Hermione's wearing one of Ron's t-shirts that's much too big on her but still shows off the long stretch of her legs.

"Harry?" she says, her voice still hoarse and breathless. Of course, she's got her wits about her. Harry would laugh if he weren't so damn embarrassed.

"I, uh, I don't reckon we could go right for _obliviate_ on this one, huh?"

Ron's mouth works in something that might be a laugh and Hermione says, "If that's what you want, but," she glances up at Ron, who shrugs, which makes interesting things happen to his chest and belly, "wouldn't it be more fun to join us?"

"I--What? Seriously?"

"Seriously, Harry." She holds out a hand. "We didn't think, that is, we weren't sure--"

"I told her you were a bit of an arse bandit, but she didn't believe me," Ron says.

Harry can't make his brain or his mouth work. "I--What? Are you sure?"

"That you want a piece of my arse?" Ron asks. "Yeah, I think so."

"Hermione?"

"Come on, Harry," she says.

Harry takes her hand.

end

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Snow Patrol.


End file.
